Chapter 25 #2
“With all my heart.”
She kissed his cheek. “Be happy then. And wish me luck. War is probably a safer course than the one I’m choosing.”
Portia left the room and found the corridor empty. Where would Bryght be? She could start searching rooms again, but the prospect wearied her. Instead she descended the stairs to the hall, seeking a servant.
The hall appeared empty, but then she heard a blast from a horn.
Within moments the space was teeming with staff.
She froze with surprise, but then two footmen swung open the doors to reveal the Marquess of Rothgar mounting the steps, his sister on his arm.
Another gentleman came behind and they were trailed by a small retinue of personal servants.
Two coaches each drawn by six horses, stood in the drive.
Portia was rooted to the stairs by shock. As servants bustled around divesting the arrivals of cloaks, hats, and muffs Lord Rothgar looked up and saw her.
He raised a cold brow.
He wasn’t the devil she had intended to face but there was nothing for it. Portia descended the stairs, wishing Bryght would appear to support her.
“Bridgewater,” said the marquess coolly to the pale, lanky young man by his side. “May I present Lady Arcenbryght Malloren?”
The duke took her hand and kissed it warmly. “Lady Bryght. I posted down to be sure he wasn’t doing something foolish in my cause.” He sounded pleased, but Portia wasn’t sure how to take his words.
Elf stepped into the situation. “Oh, do let’s go into the Tapestry Room where there will be a fire.” She linked arms with Portia. “Came long. It was a lovely wedding, wasn’t it…?” She swept them all along on a ripple of light chatter until they were in the room and the door was shut.
“Where’s Bryght?” asked Rothgar crisply.
Portia flinched. “I don’t know. He’s here somewhere.”
“You left the house separately. How did you get here?”
Portia swallowed. Perhaps Rothgar would wring her neck. “Fort brought me,” she whispered.
“You are a rash and dangerous woman.”
Portia began to wonder if she would be tossed out of Rothgar Abbey on her ear but Brand and Fort walked in.
“She certainly is,” Brand said, shaking his head at her. “Lord, Bey, I recall you taking a switch to the twins when they climbed the north wall.”
Rothgar’s brows rose as he looked at Portia. “A very rash woman.”
“He locked me in!” But she had seen the flicker of amusement on the marquess’s eyes. “It’s an easy climb.”
“True enough. But not to be encouraged for eight-year-olds. One assumes older people will have more sense. Is your brother well?”
“Yes.”
“Oliver’s safe?” asked Fort sharply.
“Yes,” Portia told him, praying he’d make no further trouble. “It was all a mistake.”
“What a shame. Does Bryght want to kill me?” He sounded mildly hopeful.
Portia could have killed him herself. “Fort, stop this. Go away and leave my life alone.”
“But you’re a Malloren,” he said. He strolled toward her and took her hand, raising it for a kiss. “Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer to run away with me?”
Portia was burningly aware of a roomful of Mallorens and a total stranger. “Not in the slightest,” she said icily, dragging her hand from his.
“How ungrateful you are.” He looked around the room then bowed. “Au revoir. A la prochaine.”
Portia watched him leave. Until the next, he said. But what next? Would he succeed in getting his revenge, or in finding death at the hands of a Malloren?
“Portia!”
The marquess’s sharp tone brought her attention back to him.
“If you wish to leave with Lord Walgrave, I will not stop you.” He sounded as if he might wave her on her way.
Portia licked her lips. “I don’t.”
“What are your feelings for Bryght?”
Portia looked around at the watchful faces, and Elf flashed her an encouraging smile.
“I love him,” she admitted.
Rothgar’s expression didn’t lighten. “Then you had best find him, don’t you think?”
Portia wished he would offer a little support and guidance. “I don’t know where to look.”
“It rather depends on whether he wants to be found. His rooms would be an optimistic place to start. Elf, could you play guide to this architectural mass?”
“Of course.” Elf took Portia’s hand to lead her from the room.
“And Portia,” said the marquess, halting them, “if necessary, scream very loudly. We have had our due allotment of violent deaths here for one year.”
Portia was trembling as Elf led her to the stairs.
Elf paused to smile. “Don’t worry. Bryght won’t harm you.”
“Can you be sure? I tried to shoot him. Again.” Her heart was racing and her knees were knocking, but it wasn’t so much fear of violence—though that was possible—as fear of rejection.
Elf laughed. “That’s probably part of your charm.”
Portia wasn’t sure she had any charm anymore. Bryght had said he loved her, but that was before she had betrayed him. Not betrayed him physically, but emotionally, in fearing the worst. In not trusting him.
They were in a side corridor and Elf stopped by a door. “Here we are.” She suddenly gathered Portia into her arms and hugged her. “It will be all right. Just be honest.”
With that, she turned and retraced her steps, not looking back to see what Portia would do.
Portia wiped a damp hand on her skirt. If there were any sensible alternatives she might have walked away from this door, but Bryght had to be faced. If he were here at all.
What if he didn’t want to be found?
She turned the knob and went in, to find only an empty room. Her heart turned to a painful lump in her chest.
It was a kind of study with a well-stocked library and desk, but with chairs by the fire and a sideboard bearing decanters and a bowl of fruit. It was a comfortable, well-used room which spoke to her senses of Bryght.
But he wasn’t here.
He didn’t want to be found.
Then she saw the half-open adjoining door to the bedroom. That room too looked empty, but she entered it anyway.
Bryght was leaning against the windowsill, stark naked.
Portia’s mouth dropped open.
“Naked to your malice or your love,” he said, and though his body concealed nothing, his feelings were cloaked.
Portia couldn’t see her way, and it appeared he wasn’t going to guide her. “I can’t say I’m sorry,” she whispered. “In the same situations, I would do the same things.”
“I know. But I have to know you’ll trust me in the future, that when you have doubts you’ll tell me of them, not run off on some crazy start.”
“Will you trust me?” she demanded. “You thought I was capable of committing adultery on my wedding night.”
His jaw twitched. “You’ve expressed a preference for Fort.”
“I’ve known him since we were children.”
“That hardly makes it better.”
“He’s like a brother.” Portia clasped and unclasped her hands. “I asked him to kiss me in the coach because I had never been truly kissed by a man other than you. I wanted to know if the effect was from the kisses or the man.”
“And?” he asked softly.
She shrugged uneasily and looked away. “He had little effect on me. Of course, that isn’t a very wide test….”
“Portia,” he warned.
She realized her hands were tight together now. “Bryght, I’m scared. Tell me you love me.”
“No. I’ve done that and had it thrown back at me. It’s your turn.”
She eyed him uncertainly, wondering if he wanted a chance to reject her love. Perhaps his nakedness was an insult.
“What is love?” she whispered.
“What do you feel?”
She turned away from the distracting sight of him. “I can’t imagine life without you. I care about you. I want you to be happy. I…I want to bear your children….” Still he said nothing. “I desire you.”
His bare feet had made no sound, so she jumped when he touched her shoulders. He turned her and undid the clasp that held her gown together at the front.
“What…?”
“If you want to bear my children, we had best work at it.”
She gripped his hands. “Bryght!”
He stopped. “I’m sorry. That was unfortunate.
I’m still a little angry with you.” He raised his hands to cradle her face.
“But I love you, Portia. I, too, cannot imagine life without you. I want your happiness, your children, and your desire. Always. And,” he added with a smile, “the River Thames is rather insistently rising.”
She looked down and saw it was true. She curled her hand around him. He felt as hot as her face. “I can’t believe how bold I am with you. It’s as if I’m not me at all.”
“You are entrancingly you.” He slipped her gown off her shoulders, down her arms, to fall to the floor, then ran his hands restlessly over her pretty bridal stays and petticoats. “No hoops?”
“I climbed out of another window.”
His hands paused. “The north wall. I know. ’Struth, Portia. Try to live a cautious life, for my sake.”
“How can I, married to you?”
He laughed and they kissed then, first tenderly, then deeply, then endlessly, lovingly exploring each other fully for the first time.
Portia was dizzy when they finished, and weak with desire. “I am sorry!” she exclaimed. “Sorry for not trusting you.”
“Now, now. Don’t make me think I’ve married a weak, vacillating woman.” Even with unsteady hands he was efficient. Her stays were gone, and her petticoat fell to the floor. He took out the pins and spread her hair.
Then he kissed her again until she was limp and expecting to be carried to the bed.
But he left her then and went to slip under the bed covers alone. “Come join me in our marriage bed, wife, if that is your will.”
“It is my will,” she whispered, and took off her shift so she too was naked. But then, under his intent gaze, she suffered an attack of insecurity and covered herself with her hands. “I’m sorry I don’t have more curves.”
“I’m not.” He flipped back a corner of the covers. “Come. Come of your own will. I’m done with traps and seduction.”
“That seems a shame,” she said with a laugh.
He didn’t laugh with her, just waited. She knew then how much she’d hurt him and her heart ached.
“I think I’m scared,” she whispered.
Humor flickered in his darkened eyes. “Imagine I’m a wall to climb, love.”
Portia laughed and dashed under the covers. He immediately pulled her crushingly close. “I love you. Deeply, irrevocably. Remember that.” He looked into her eyes. “I meant my wedding vows. This is for all time.”
She kissed him. “For all time, this life and after…”
As they kissed, he eased her on top of him, his hardness nestled between her thighs.
Portia pulled her mouth free so she could shower kisses all over his face, his neck, his shoulders. “I love you, too. I’ll try not to be so rash.”
His touch was gentle, cherishing skill. “Oh, some forms of rashness I like,” he teased.
She grinned and twisted to delve beneath the covers and assault the River Thames, but he seized her. “No, not today. This is our marriage bed, and today is for simple love. No tricks, no cleverness, just you and me in blessed harmony.”
Even in her inexperience, she could tell his touch was just that—an expression of love, not an attempt to dominate her senses.
Portia allowed herself to do the same. She explored his body with no intent other than to satisfy her desire to know, her need to touch him—learn him—with mouth, hands, and every portion of her skin.
She pushed back the covers so that her eyes, too, could feast. “You are so beautiful.”
“As are you.” His lips played on her breast, and she stilled to take in the pleasure he could bring.
“That feels wonderful,” she murmured.
“Mmmmmm.”
She was laughing when he sucked, and the sweet pleasure became wild. Portia squeaked, then stopped the noise.
He grinned at her. “Just one squeak? Surely we can do better than that.”
And he proved he could.
“What if someone hears?” Portia gasped.
“You’ll be supporting my reputation as a mythic lover.”
“What?”
“Our demonstration at Mirabelle’s was much admired. I had to marry to avoid a pack of salivating ladies.”
Portia had other questions, but he was demonstrating that he could raise wild cries by touch as well as mouth. “This isn’t fair,” she gasped, her body dancing beneath to his tune. “I want to do this to you.”
He smiled into her eyes, his own dark, his cheeks touched with the color of desire.
“You will. If you don’t discover how by natural genius, I’ll teach you.
But let me pleasure you now, love. I’ve never done this before—lain with a beloved in innocent joy and trust.” His hand slid firm between her thighs.
“Rise up my beloved, and open to me. And that,” he added with a smile, “is almost from the Bible, too.”
So Portia did rise up and open to him, closing her eyes to savor his skillful touch, then the blessed relief when he slid in to ease her desire. He was slow this time, so slow she moved restlessly to meet him, to hasten their joining.
“Open your eyes, love,” he whispered.
She did, and gazed breathlessly at him as he filled her with heat and power.
“To think I could have lived my life without this,” he murmured and moved subtly in a way that made her gasp.
“Exactly what I was thinking,” she said. “But with even greater fervor.”
They burst into laughter as he moved in her, and the laughter blended with their release, so they rolled together afterward, still chuckling as they kissed with joy.